


Bridges (drabbles/prompts)

by Charona



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Babysitting, Bad Jokes, Banter, Beer, Cats, Challenges, Children, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Fights, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gaming, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self Prompt, Specks of fluff, Spiders, Tea, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Tension, Words, cursing, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charona/pseuds/Charona
Summary: We all know to use our words wisely for they have great power, the power to hurt and destroy – but words can mend and create, too. They are our bridges that connect us to others, their thoughts, their hearts and their souls.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks,
> 
> I'm back at it and it's going to be waaaaayyyy lighter than "thunder and lightning", I promise!  
> This is going to be a prompt challenge of sorts with a list of sentences that need to be in the dialogue.  
> I have a few ideas myself, but please feel free to come up with ideas, pairings, alterations.  
> I’m really open for anything and will change the tags accordingly, of course. 
> 
>  
> 
> For now, have fun with the list and the first chapter!

1\. „Don’t you say that… not you”  
2\. „I know it’s 3 in the morning, but I can’t find my cat”  
3\. „Make me”  
4\. „Is that my shirt?”  
5\. „If you walk out that door… don’t you ever come back”  
6\. „Don’t you die on me”  
7\. „Where were you when I needed you?”  
**8\. „Will you just shut up for a minute and let me think?!”**  
9\. „I just want you to be happy”  
**10\. „It’s time to say goodbye”**  
**11\. „Please…stay…”**  
12\. „I don’t want to hurt you”  
13\. „Just shut up and kiss me”  
14\. „I wish I could stop loving you”  
15\. „I’m scared”  
16\. „You knocked on my door at 1 in the morning, to cuddle?”  
**17\. „I can’t do this without you”**  
18\. „Love is stupid”  
19\. “I trusted you”  
20\. „No, please don’t!”  
**21\. „I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed!”**  
22\. „I thought you loved me”  
23\. „What? You think you’re the only one suffering?”  
24\. „You’re alive?!”  
**25\. „Don’t you try and pin this on me!”**  
26\. „Why are you like this?  
27\. „If you really love me, you’ll let me go”  
28\. „I hate you”  
29\. „Because I love you god damn it!”  
30\. „Oh well good for you”  
**31\. „I’m not gonna keep having this conversation“**  
32\. „Every time I see you, I fall in love with you all over again”  
33\. „Close your eyes”  
34\. „Will you marry me?”  
**35\. „Please… I need you”**


	2. Two and a half racing drivers (Max & Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35\. „Please... I need you.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first chapter starting with the last prompt :D
> 
> Have fun!

“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”  
Max turns on the small lamp next to the crib and looks into tearstained dark brown eyes – something that runs in the Ricciardo family and makes him smile automatically.  
The two-year-old stands on the mattress, stabilizing himself with a tight grip and peers through the bars of the crib directly at Max, who sighs and gets up from his improvised bed that is Daniel’s couch.  
Oliver blabbers some nonsense and spreads out his tiny arms in Max’s direction. The Dutchman yawns and lifts Daniel’s nephew up and lets him sit on his hipbone with a swift movement.  
“Why aren’t you sleeping? Did you have a nightmare, sweetie, mh?” He coos and rocks the infant.  
“Maxy.” comes the tired and curt answer that makes Max chuckle. The last days Oliver has spent with them he picked up his name and instantly gave him a nickname on top – one Daniel adapted as well of course.

Max wipes tears from the little reddened face and starts walking up and down the living room, while trying to bite back a yawn.  
He never planned having kids. And why should he think about it in the first place? He’s 20 years old and keeping a woman long enough in his life to even consider a family isn’t really his strong suit, either. And moreover, he’s so focused on his career right now that the thought really doesn’t present itself to him. But Oliver is alright, he reckons. He’s curious and loud and clumsy and sweet and loving. 

He wanted to spend a few days alone at home before they’ll have to head out to the Asian races in Singapore, Malaysia and Japan, but it didn’t go as planned.  
Three days ago Daniel knocked at his apartment door, a sleeping child in one arm and a huge bag slung over his other, dreading to clatter to the floor. Max made use of his fast trained reflexes and caught the bag before eying Daniel’s embarrassed expression with a raised eyebrow.  
“That’s not yours, is it?”  
“Jeepers, no. Oh God. Michelle is in the hospital. Her second pregnancy isn’t going as planned with the twins and James is on a business trip in China for at least another week and my parents are on vacation in Sweden and-“  
He ruffled his already completely disheveled hair with his now free hand, his voice immensely tired and weary. His shoulders dropped.  
**“Please... I need you.“**  
Max considered closing the door on Daniel and going back to bed, he really did. But the pleading and desperate undertone in Daniel’s voice and the small bundle of Oliver in his arms made him change his mind.  
That’s how they ended up as a quite comical trio in Daniel’s apartment.  
They bought the bare necessities and turned Daniel’s living room into a comfy children’s playground – and a bedroom for Max since he spends the night here anyway in case Oliver wakes up.  
He looks out of the balcony door over the twinkling lights in the Monegasque harbor and rocks Oliver in his arms.  
He softly hums the Dutch version of „sleep, my child, sleep“ and watches the twinkling yachts and cruise liners.  
He hears Daniel’s bedroom door being opened and closed before the sleepy Australian shuffles around the corner.  
“Hey, you two. What’s up?”  
“Olli hat a nightmare again, right, buddy?” Oliver responds contains nothing more but a soft intake of breath. He’s almost asleep again.  
Daniel just nods and makes his way to the kitchen.  
“Fancy a tea or hot chocolate or anything?”  
“Tea would be great, thanks.”  
“You know you can have my bedroom, if you want to. I can sleep on the couch, really.”  
Max chuckles lightly and tugs Oliver in again, who instantly grabs the small blanket with his little fingers.  
Max turns around and wipes his burning eyes.  
“No, I don’t mind staying here. Honestly, it’s quite nice actually. Monaco isn’t the worst place to be awake at night and Oliver is a great kid.”  
“Yeah, he is. Runs in the family, you know? Michelle and I, we were pretty chill as babies as well.”  
“So what happened?” A mischievous grin displays on Max’s lips and Daniel shakes his head smirking.  
“Asshole.”  
They stop still for a second when a small noise comes from the crib across the room. Then Oliver falls asleep again and the two drivers relax. Daniel clicks his tongue, playing with the label of his teabag.  
“Thank you, Max. Really. You’re doing way more than I expected and dared to hope for after everything.”  
Max shrugs and leans back into his chair.  
“The things we do for our loved ones.”  
The sentence lingers in the chilly air between them for a moment, heavy with unsaid things and varying meanings. Daniel swallows and runs a hand through his hair and Max stares daggers into the table surface.  
“Take my bed for the rest of the night.”  
Max wants to shake his head, but Daniel nods determinately. “It would make me feel better.”  
Max smiles softly and takes a sip from the steaming cup. Peppermint with a teaspoon of honey, just the way he likes it.  
“Alright. We’ll take turns.” 

Max’s eyes wander over the illuminated harbor with its shiny and expensive boats and imagines Oliver wobbling after seagulls and feeding fishes. He’s starting to think it’s not that bad a summer break and it’s going to be an even better week with the two Ricciardo men.


	3. The perks of being a race engineer (Max/Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25\. "Don't you try and pin this on me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Thanks for your comments, I hope you had fun with the first one :D
> 
> A quick reminder, that I really want you guys to let me know if you have any ideas, wishes, prompts! I want to improve my writing (especially dialogues) with this list so fire away, folks :D  
> The next one is going to be a little bit more… out of the box, I guess, so have fun!

Simon Rennie loves his job. He loves working with a young and motivated team and he loves working under Christian Horner’s watchful and understanding eyes. He loves the dynamics of the sport, the new challenges regarding track alterations or new rules. And he really loves working with Daniel Ricciardo, the ever-motivated, ever-smiling Australian. But sometimes he really hates his job. The deprivations, the traveling, the tiredness. Moreover, he sometimes really hates working with Daniel Ricciardo, when he’s late for appointments. And on top of the huge pile of shit he already has to deal with he has to search for his driver on the Saturday of a race weekend after he already missed the morning meeting at the paddock and it’s only four hours until qualifying starts. 

 

Simon runs a hand through his dark hair and makes a beeline for the driver homes. The chilly morning air makes him shiver and he clings to his coffee cup like a drowning man, a poor, drowning, caffeine-deprived man.  
He turns around a corner and is able to avoid a collision with Michael Italiano just in time, spilling coffee over his hand.  
“Jesus fucking Christ!” he curses. Michael scratches the back of his head awkwardly.  
“That’s my bad. I’m sorry, Simon.”  
Simon knows he won’t come up with anything nice to say so he sticks with Bambi and simply stays silent, eyeing Daniel’s physiotherapist grumpily.  
“Hey, have you seen Daniel? He was supposed to meet me for a run over two hours ago and didn’t show up. The last time that happened I made sure he had a hell of a week, sport-wise.”  
Simon sighs and wipes his wet but now at least warm and good smelling hand dry on his jeans.  
“I bet he overslept and his phone died or anything. Let’s check his trailer.”  
“Wasn’t there a meeting like an hour ago?” Michael asks, irritation mirroring in his green-brown eyes.  
“Yep, Christian nearly exploded after Max didn’t show up to his own appointment with him either.”  
“Wow, that’s a first. Max missing out on his duties.”  
“Yes. It’s going to be an interesting weekend.”  
They make their way to where the huge trailers are parked and literally stumble upon Gianpiero Lambiase, who bumps into Simon as they pass by Verstappen’s motorhome.  
“Jesus fucking Christ!”, Simon grumbles again, quickly lifting his sacred coffee out of harm’s way.  
“Ups, sorry, Simon. Have you guys seen Max?”  
“What? Don’t tell me Max is nowhere to be found either?!”  
“Haven’t seen him today, no. And what’s that supposed to mean “either”? Where’s Daniel?”  
They look at each other in a moment of silent thought and Simon takes a sip from his coffee. Glances are exchanged, opinion wordlessly gathered and plans pondered on.  
“Oh, fuck me.”, Michael groans then and takes a deep breath.  
I feel you, buddy, is what Simon wants to say but bites back the comment again.  
The unlikely trio of them makes their way to Ricciardo’s motorhome. 

Michael makes use of his chip card and the automatic door slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh. They are met by complete silence and darkness and stale air. One after the other they enter Daniel’s home for the season and Simon freezes to place in the doorframe, taking in and processing the picture in front of him.  
The two red bulls lay in the middle of a self-induced chaos of clothes, videogames, beer bottles and cushions. The TV’s still displaying some flickering main menu of a gory horror game.  
Simon’s mouth falls open and he hears Michael huff behind him.  
Daniel Ricciardo’s sleeping on his stomach sprawled across the sofa, one hand and one leg dangling over the edges, dressed in nothing more but shorts.  
His fingertips rest on Max Verstappen’s naked shoulder, who lays hurled up in a small bundle on the floor, just in his sweatpants, PlayStation controller still in one hand.  
They snore in unison.  
“That’s it. I quit.”, Gianpiero murmurs and turns around on his heels to leave.  
Simon and Michael exchange a quick glance before Simon clears his throat.  
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” 

They two drivers jolt upright, Max hitting his head on Daniel’s elbow and moaning in pain, while Daniel lets out a strange mixture of a groan and yelp that sounds like a little animal being strangled to death – something the Aussie would deserve, Simon states internally matter-of-factly. 

“You two are a disgrace! I’ve been looking for you for HOURS! You missed two appointments, embarrassed the team and are already late for qualifying! I could strangle you and would receive a promotion from Christian for doing so!”  
He looks into two pairs of immensely tired oceanic and ebony eyes and sighs.  
He can’t shake the impression that the embarrassment of being caught in the act, half-naked, in strange domesticity and possibly hungover is worse than anything he could throw at them in the moment. He wipes his eyes and lifts his hands in a capitulating gesture, before shaking his head.  
“Just get the fuck out of here, before I actually do so!”  
With that he leaves the two drivers alone with fast spreading redness on their cheeks and necks that matches their team logo surprisingly well.  
He hears them muttering.  
“Fuck, I can’t believe we fell asleep.” Daniel’s voice is drowsy and raspy. A yawn follows.  
“You were the one who wanted to play borderlands so badly!” Daniel then says, Max obviously too tired to form English sentences after just being woken up so abruptly.  
“And you came up with resident evil, that wasn’t my fault.” … or maybe not, Simon reckons, leaning against the side of the bus with one leg propped up against the huge tyre.  
“Hey, **don’t try and pin this on me** . You wanted to try the new beer type.”  
"It was so warm in here and the alcohol and the game... I can't believe I fell asleep on the damned floor!"  
“Oh, my back hurts.” “My neck is so stiff!”  
They say that in unison and despite everything it manages to make Simon smile. 

Beer bottles clatter, Max laughs hoarsely and Daniel yawns like a dog shuffling down the stairs and into the morning cold.  
He shivers and wraps his arms around his upper body now hidden under a huge hoodie.  
Max appears behind him, eyes squinted against the brightness and still carmine red.  
Daniel ducks his head when he sees Michael’s raised eyebrows, Gianpiero’s clenched jaw and Simon’s crossed arms.  
“We’re fucked, aren’t we?”, asks Daniel ruffling his already messy hair.  
“Absolutely.”  
“I might be pushing my luck but…”, he says then with a grin that’s borderline enthusiastic. “when’s breakfast?”  
Gianpiero’s shoulders drop, Michael instantly chases the two drivers across the parking lot, ranting and yelling, and Simon lets out a melodramatic groan.  
“I should have become a kindergartener…”  
Simon pats his colleague's back comfortingly, handing him his coffee wishing it would be something stronger.


	4. The spider incident (Max/Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> Here comes another chapter, have fun and tell me, what you think!
> 
> People with arachnophobia be warned ;)

It’s different this season.  
Max could have never imagined Daniel wearing anything else but the dark blue clothes on a race weekend. Still Daniel stands on the other end of the press pen talking to the Italian press in a bright yellow polo shirt. And above that he manages to look as perfect as always, the friendly colour underlining his tanned skin, his bright smile and his sunny personality.  
Max tears his eyes away and smirks before asking the Interviewer in front of him to repeat her 

Things changed since Daniel left the team but in a different way than Max had expected them to. They are even closer now rather than farther away from each other. They talk more openly about racing and life in general now that they aren’t direct rivals anymore. Max muses how Daniel changing team at this specific point in both of their careers might change things for the future as he returns to the garage.

He nods at Marko before turning to Gianpiero.  
“How’s it going?”  
“Pre-heating is almost done. You should get ready.”  
Max pats his back and turns around to the car, running his fingertips over the shiny blue surface of the chassis for a second.  
Suddenly he notices something huge and pitch black and hairy out of the corner of his eyes.  
“Jesus fucking Christ, there’s a spider!”  
Max jumps backwards, clenching his helmet in both hands staring at the plate-sized animal sitting nonchalantly in his driver’s seat like in a throne, looking up at his objectives out of what seems like eight billion razor-sharp eyes.  
“What? Where?!” Gianpiero asks carefully peeking out from behind his clipboard.  
Max whines in disgust.  
“In my car, on the seat! Oh my god!”  
Max shivers, sheer panic in his face, when the spider fucking clicks at him.

“What’s going on?”  
Daniel enters the red bull garage, a yellow sun sinking into all the oceanic dark blue and frowns at the scene.  
“What happened?” he asks as he takes in Max’s frightened and pale face and the nervous distance all the mechanics and staff seem to maintain to the RB15.  
“Spider!” Max whispers as if trying not to offend the new ruler of the car worth millions of dollars.  
Daniel cocks his head and murmurs a simple “Welcome to Australia.” before approaching the car.  
Max instantly grabs his arm to stop him. Daniel meets icy blue eyes, wide with fear and disgust.  
**“I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed.”**  
“Trust me, I can handle it.” Daniel radiates so much self-assurance and confidence that Max slowly loosens his grip.

Daniel peers inside the car, mutters a soft “Hey, you obviously took a wrong turn, because you’re absolutely lost, mate. Let me help you.”  
Max watches in terror as Daniel looks around for some tool to help him move the beast.  
He grabs one of the huge screw-wrenches that are attached on the drills for tyre changes and carefully pushes it beneath the spider. Max hides his face in his hands as Daniel lifts the spider up and carries it out of the garage.  
“Curiosity killed the cat” he murmurs before following the Aussie past the Farrari and Mercedes garages. Daniel sets down the animal in the grass lane next a neat pile of tyres and waves it goodbye.  
“Alrighty, mate, there you go. Stay safe!”  
When he turns around he flashes Max a mischievous grin.  
“Are you alright?”  
“I guess so. Thanks.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
They part in front of the Red Bull garage with a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary.  
Daniel pats Max’s back.  
“It’s okay, Max. See you on track. Have a good one.”  
Max lets out a shaky laugh and quickly takes in Daniel’s scent before returning to his garage and disinfect his chassis.

 

After the race Daniel sits in the corner of a local pub, when Max slumps down on the opposite bench. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, both dwelling on their thoughts, sighing occasionally and drinking from time to time. Until Max sighs.  
“I’m sorry about the race. I know, how important the home races are to you.”  
“Jesus, they’re important to everyone, Max!” Daniel sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”  
“It’s okay, honestly. It seems like we both act kind of girly today.”  
Daniel snorts at that and chuckles before licking his lips and drinking from his beer bottle. Max can’t hide the pride of being responsible for that positive expression after a shitty DNF in the first race of the season.  
“It was just too much work this week, way too much. I was exhausted before the weekend even started. I should have handled it better beforehand.”  
Max shrugs and fumbles with the bottle label.  
“Australia means a lot to you. And I don’t mean just the race as itself. You love this country and you want to represent it as well as possible.”  
Daniel looks at Max and his ebony eyes display everything he feels for Max in that very seconds when his lips curve upwards into a tender smile.  
Max nudges his shoulder for he doesn’t dare to take Daniel’s hand in public – not yet, at least.  
“Although I honestly don’t get why you love that country so much. It sucks!”  
“Why?” Daniel looks like someone stole his chocolate, irritated, on the verge of pouting. Max spreads his arms in a defying movement.  
“Ahm, hello?! It tried to kill me today?!”  
Daniel huffs and laughs, making Max grin widely.  
“Jeepers, Max, it was just a spider…”  
“A huge, definitely deadly spider.”  
“You’re such a whiny hard-ass.”, complains Daniel shaking his head at Max, who instantly pouts.  
“Should have let the spider eat me then.”  
“Max, spiders don’t eat people. They’re not piranhas.”  
“This one would have…”, insists Max and Daniel sighs in what sounds like defeat.  
“Not even in Australia… and my continent really is home to some dangerous creatures, I give you that. This one wouldn’t have killed you, though. It probably was as frightened of you as you were of it.”  
“Are you seriously defending the spider?!”  
Daniel groans and wipes his eyes before nodding at Max’s empty beer bottle.  
“I’ll get us another round.”  
“Try not to befriend any spiders on your way!” Max murmurs and gets pinched in the arm for that.  
“Jerk!”  
Daniel’s grin is too wide to make the insult sting. While he waits for the drinks he looks at Max, who sits at the table, deep in thought with his eyes fixed on the table surface and bobbing knees.  
Although the disappointment of the race stings and he’s tired and weary to the bone, the sight of Max waiting for him at that table makes it somehow bearable.

 

It’s a couple of days later on one of their rare free weekdays when Daniel hangs upside down the high bar in the far corner of the gym for some crucial sit-up exercises and Max enters the room.  
“You’re up early.”  
“A hero needs to stay in shape.”  
“You’re not planning on letting that spider thing go for another decade, are you?”  
Max comes closer after dropping his towel on the weight bench. Daniel’s fuzzy and sweaty curls dangle in the air cheekily. He can see the tattoo peeking out from under his shorts. The toned muscles of his stomach and chest under the shimmering and tanned skin make Max swallow. He pushes a wet strand from Daniel’s face and gets on his tip-toes so they are on eye level. He instantly drowns in Daniel’s ebony eyes that look at him curiously and open and loving.  
“You are a hero, but you’re too good looking for a mask to be honest. My personal spider man.”  
He crooks his head and presses a gentle kiss on Daniel’s lips. He takes in his scent, sweat, sunshine, warmth, and smiles running his hand through his hair and over his heated cheeks.  
They part and Daniel’s grin is the wrong way around but its beauty remains unscathed.  
“Be my Mary Jane then.”  
Max huffs and pinches Daniel’s sides.  
“Don’t get cheeky. But yeah, I’d choose you over Toby McGuire. Andrew Garfield is more my type.”  
Daniel makes the last sit-up, grips the bar and lowers himself until his feet touch solid ground again.  
He shakes his head and clicks his tongue.  
“Garfield is alright, but I don’t know, whether I should thank you for the compliment or punch you for even considering a comparison between McGuire and me.”  
“You could as well just kiss me, you know?”  
Max grins and is met by Daniel’s warm embrace in the middle of the room.  
“I’ll always protect you from evil spiders and snakes and Christian Horners.”  
“What about sharks?”  
Max presses his nose into the crook of Daniel’s neck and feels him laughing against his chest.  
“Well, I need a few more training sessions, but I’ll get there to even face my fear of sharks.”  
The joke fades a little, as Daniel combs his fingers through Max’s damp hair.  
“For you, I would.”  
And despite the joke, despite Max being tired already of being teased because of the spider incident, he knows in his very heart and soul that Daniel is telling the truth – because that’s what heroes do.


	5. Two and a half racing drivers II (Max & Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. “It’s time to say goodbye”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, 
> 
> I hope, you guys like it, have fun :D

Daniel has spent the last days with Oliver and is immensely grateful for it. He cherishes the light-heartedness of his nephew, his cheerful screams when they play-fight on his couch and the all-consuming hate for spinach. And he likes having Olli with him in the paddock, seeing him chase around Räikkönen’s or Vettel’s sons.  
His nephew clings to his hand and wobbles beside him on their way to the paddock. Daniel lifts his track identification card and the woman at the entrance opens the door without even looking at it.  
“Thanks.”, he mutters with an excusing grin, guiding Oliver through the swarm of people streaming towards the paddocks – mechanics, sponsors, journalists.  
“Do you want to sit on my shoulders?” Daniel asks and expects his sister’s son to agree at once, but Oliver shakes his head, cradling his stuffed animal, funny enough a honey badger, in his arms, while inspecting his surroundings with wide and chocolaty brown eyes.  
“Alright, mate, but you need to stay with me and we need to hurry, your uncle is late… as always.”  
He leads their way through the crowd and the distance that would have taken Daniel less than a minute to cover eats away their time now with Oliver’s legs being so short and him being interested in almost everything. 

Daniel’s mother had told him earlier today on the phone that their car broke down and they wouldn’t make it in time to pick up Olli at Daniel’s hotel. So Daniel offered to simply take his nephew with him. He’d been to the paddocks before and it sounded like fun – back then.  
Daniel checks his watch again and clicks his tongue.  
“Come on, buddy.”  
But suddenly Oliver detangles his tiny hand from Daniel’s grip, screams a delighted “Robin!” and dashes off.  
“OLIVER!”, yells Daniel but the crowd swallows the tiny curly head instantly like a gigantic wave.  
Daniel tries to wind through the swarm of people, but he’s too slow and bumps into a Force India sponsor, muttering a half-hearted apology.  
He scans every person and group, watches as the cameramen carry their heavy equipment and posh ladies sort out their handbags, but there is no sign of Oliver.  
Daniel’s heart is in his mouth and he ruffles his hair.  
“Shit!”, he hisses and images flash across his inner eye instantly, Oliver being trampled to death, kidnapped, run over by a race car.  
He takes a shaky intake of breath and checks the shops at each side of the road – merchandize, food, cocktails, everything Daniel couldn’t give a single fuck about at the moment. Everyone from the service staff shakes their head. “Sorry, I haven’t seen that child.”  
Daniel feels like getting a heart attack.  
“Fuck!” he curses at the top of the lungs ignoring the looks he receives from passer-by.

He sees Räikkönen standing at the next corner with his wife deeply in conversation with some Italian sponsors and sprints towards them.  
“Where’s Olli?!”, he asks out of breath and instead of a greeting.  
“Olli? I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.”  
“But he saw Robin, I’m a hundred percent sure, he’s with him.”  
And then Daniel’s heart drops to his ankles when Kimi’s son Robin appears happily munching on some pastries – without Oliver.  
“Oh my god!” Daniel huffs and would have sunk to his knees if Kimi didn’t stabilize him with a firm grip around his arm.  
“Hey, it’s alright, we’ll find him. Go to the garages, we’ll check the shops and lounges again.” He meets the icy blue eyes of the Finn with all his perseverance, trust and goodwill in them. “They have some aquariums up there, maybe he’s just watching the fish.”  
And then Kimi smiles and Daniel knows, he’s truly fucked. When a Kimi Räikkönen comforts him and even bestows him with one of his rare smiles, things must be looking pretty dark.  
Daniel nods numbly and makes his way to the end of the grid, always keeping his eyes open for Oliver’s cheerfully bobbing curls – or a crowd of people clustered around a hurt or dead child. His heart gallops through his ribcage on a search for an escape from its prison made of bones and blood. Daniel feels nauseas and tiny droplets of sweat form on his temples.  
He tumbles past the garages until he reaches the yellow draped Renault garage.  
“Hey, man, how are you?” Hülkenberg tries to hug him, but Daniel waves him off.  
“Not now, sorry. Have you seen Oliver?”  
“Who’s Oliver?”, asks the German with a deep frown on his forehead.  
Daniel bites back the curse. If only Max was here, Max knows exactly what Oliver looks like, where he might hide.  
Suddenly he hears a heavily accented voice saying “Alright, let’s go back, Oliver. **It’s time to say goodbye**. Wave goodbye. Come on.”  
And out of a stream of people comes Max Verstappen, in a white shirt with the sleeves of his open fireproof dangling around his waist, the mandatory cap crowning his head and a not so mandatory big smile plastered to his face.  
Daniel covers his mouth with the back of his hand when he spots Oliver in Max’s arms, happily waving and blabbering his head off.  
He’s so close to sinking to his knees and kiss the earth beneath Verstappen’s feet and the thought makes a dirty smirk appear on his lips for a split second, before sprinting towards his nephew and his teammate.  
“Jesus, Olli, what were you thinking?! You can’t just run away from your uncle like that! This is a dangerous place, something could have happened to you!” He kisses the brown matt of curls and tugs at the strands warningly. “Don’t ever do that again!”  
Then he turns to face Max, whose eyes glisten cobalt blue.  
“Thank you. Really, Max. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”  
“Honestly, I didn’t do anything. He stood in front of the fork lifter over there. You remember that toy we bought him and that he’s absolutely obsessed with? I guess, he wanted to see one of those in real life.” His shrug is so relaxed and the way he changes Oliver’s position so he sits more comfortable on his hipbone is so caring that Daniel has to suppress the urge to kiss him right on the spot.  
“So we watched the nice man piling up tyres for a moment and then we wanted to look for you. It’s really no big deal, Daniel.”  
It is and Max knows, but Daniel cherishes him for not insisting on elaborating it.  
“Maxy!”, Olli cheers and pulls at Max’s cap until he manages to reach the blond strands underneath it.  
Max lets him and Daniel lifts a trembling hand to lay a hand on Max’s upper arm. He doesn’t dare to do anything more, surrounded by so many people, under the watchful eyes of thousands of camera lenses.  
“What would I do without you?”  
“You’d be a pretty bad babysitter, I guess.”  
Max knows Daniel can take the joke and feels himself vindicated when Daniel takes a step back tilting his head up in laughter.  
“I’m afraid, you’re right. I owe you one.”  
Max swallows and maybe it’s the pre-race adrenaline talking, maybe it’s the warm and caring little hand in his hair, but he gathers all his courage and nods at Daniel.  
“You could buy me a beer after the race.”  
If Daniel is surprised he’s damn good at hiding it. Max thinks, that maybe Daniel is ready to forgive him or at least talk about everything that happened last year – everything that Max fucked up so badly.  
“Alright. Yes, I’d like that.”  
He heaves Oliver out of Max’s arm, feeling the heat being radiated from Max’s warmed up muscles when he graces his chest and then hugs his nephew tightly. Daniel flashes a tender smile at his young teammate, who winks at Oliver.  
Images flash across his inner eye, images of Max Daniel has pushed into the far corner of his mind and that flood his brain now unquestioned, unwanted, but oh so promising. Daniel swallows and flashes a grin at his teammate.  
“See you later then.”  
“Have a good one, Max.”  
He nods at Max, his heart beating up to his throat again – but it’s not out of fear this time.  
He presses a gentle kiss on Oliver’s temple and carries him to the VIP lounge.  
“Maxy!” Oliver shouts over Daniel’s shoulder and waves at Max, who instantly waves back, his eyes lighting up and Daniel swears he hears his high and hoarse laughter. Goosebumps spread on his arms and he nods at Olli.  
“You’re going to be the death of me, young man.”


	6. "Well done, Baku" part 1 (Max & Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8\. "Will you just shut up for a minute and let me think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will be a two-chapter short story of sorts, I hope you guys enjoy this!
> 
> It's getting furry ;)

It was after a nonspecific time after the first practice that Max Verstappen headed back to his hotel. They had celebrated the birthday of one of the engineers and Max yawned without bothering to cover his mouth. The bar had been nice but a little too posh for his taste and Max excused himself relatively early. Parties at Red Bull Racing had been way more fun with Daniel being around. 

It was dark already but moderately warm and so he decided to walk the few blocks back to the hotel.  
He sniffled and buried his hands in the wide pocket of his jeans. Baku was a beautiful city, especially at night with the old cobblestone streets and tiny alleyways, medieval castle grounds and washed out and brittle remains of the once glorious town walls.  
Max skipped past the sidewalk and fumbled for his phone to text Daniel, when a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention.  
He stopped mid-step and peered into the dark alley to his left. Dumpsters stood lined up along the walls, an old bicycle leant against an old weather-beaten and rotten wooden door. He heard a metallic thud and felt goosebumps spreading over his naked arms. The sound echoed through the alley and Max licked his lips, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He’s alone.  
“Hello?”, he asked into the alleyway in a voice that’s more uncertain and borderline-nervous than he’d want to admit.  
He listened carefully into the darkness and heard nothing but the traffic noises behind him.  
With a huffed “mh…” he turned around and wanted to dig for his phone again, as he caught the metallic sound again and spun around.  
“Hello? Is there anyone?” He couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes at himself internally. Yeah, as if a murderer, rapist or robber would jump out of his hiding spot and chant “Yes, hello, excuse me, my dear sir, do you mind being murdered, raped or robbed?”  
Max shook his head and took a nervous step into the darkness. He was a grown man, god damn it, he could take care of himself.  
Suddenly he saw two eyes staring back at him and instantly stumbled backwards.  
“Who are-“  
Three things happened simultaneously: Max Verstappen, despite his trained reflexes and balance, stumbled backwards and over some empty bottles and landed painfully on his butt. He let out a quite unmanly sound and gasped “Who are you?!” under his breath. And a small black kitten strutted his way, meowed and rubbed its head against his knee.  
Max covered his eyes with his hand and suppressed a groan.  
“You’re a cat.” He stated matter-of-factly and hauled himself to his feet again, carefully to not step on the animal.  
“You’re a cat and I’m a chicken.” He chuckled at that and at the small black cat still rubbing its head against his shin.  
He patted the skinny street cat carefully and earned a surprisingly bassy and dark purr that made him smile.  
“You’re hungry, I guess. But I don’t have anything with me, mate.” He showed his hand as if to proof his point and the black cat licked his fingers.  
“Alright, I got to go, mate. Take care of yourself.”  
The cat meowed again and cleaned its face while Max wiped his hands on his jeans and turned around.  
“Good night!”  
He might have imagined that but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the kitten’s stare followed him until he reached the next street corner.  
Back in his hotel suite he fell into the soft cushions face-first and ignored Daniel, who sat on the couch and was staring at his phone screen.  
“I met a cat.” He said biting back a yawn. “It wrestled me in a dark alleyway.”  
“Was it as huge as the mysterious lizard?”  
Max rolled his eyes at Daniel’s mocking undertone and propped himself up on his elbow.  
“You saw that lizard, it was terrifying.”  
Daniel nodded and made his way to the fridge, throwing a cool water bottle in Max’s direction fully trusting on the Dutchman’s reflexes to catch it.  
“I don’t like the thought of you wrestling with unfamiliar tomcats in dark alleyways.” A mischievous grin split his lip and Max rolled his eyes. “Wrestle with me in dark alleyways. I’m a better opponent anyway.”  
Max was taken aback by that flirtation, which was even more defying than the ones Daniel had thrown at him during the past weeks.  
“Yeah, although it could have been a female, too, you know.” Max murmured scratching his head awkwardly before turning on the TV to drown out the itching longing in his mind. 

 

Qualifying on the next day was mediocre and more a test for their patience than their performance.  
In the end Max was tired nevertheless and wanted nothing more than to head back to the hotel and spend what was left of the evening with Daniel, again, to bask in his sunny company and enjoy the open and daring flirtations.  
Renault has had anything but a good start into the season so far and Max pitied Daniel, although the Aussie would punch him for saying it. They were racing drivers, they all lost sometimes. But for Max Daniel’s losses felt like his own sometimes and he hated the sensation of being rendered useless, sitting right next to Daniel in dulling silence while he felt light years away and not being able to comfort him – let alone enjoy his own success.  
He snapped out of his thoughts when Gianpiero patted his back.  
“Hey, do you want to head back to the hotel with us?”  
“Ahm, no, I’ll take a walk, but thanks for offering.”  
Gianpiero nodded and left him alone again. Max walked down the same sidewalk as yesterday and stopped at a supermarket to buy cat food.  
He opened the tin and positioned it in front of the alleyway before seating himself on the sidewalk as well. If people wondered what a Dutch millionaire and racing driver with an expensive watch on his wrist and stylish tennis shoes was doing on the dusty pavement of Baku, Max didn’t care about it.  
He sat there with his legs crossed and hypnotised the entrance of the alleyway, shadows casting long dark patterns onto the dirty and brittle walls.  
Max put his head in his hands and had almost dozed off, when a metallic scratching, munching and a dark purr startled him.  
“Hey, buddy.” He whispered in order to not scare the cat away, but the tiny fella made no indications to run off – quite the opposite; it hurled in front of the can and literally dove into the food.  
Max watched with a proud smile.  
He stayed with the cat for almost an hour, the tiny fur ball curled up in his lap until he felt the first tiny rain drops starting to hit his forearms and neck.  
He sniffled and hauled himself to his feet.  
“Alright, my friend, I’ve got to go.”  
He waved and started his way back to the hotel when he saw a shadow out of the corner of his eyes.  
“No.” he said strictly to the cat that followed him the last couple of blocks. The cat sat down and looked up at him with its light green and huge eyes.  
Max sighed, ruffling his by now damp hair.  
“But just until we reach the hotel.”  
Once they reached the stairs to the posh and luxurious building, Max patted the cat a last time and turned around. A deafening and heartbroken meow bellows through the street, making Max startle in the movement to climb the stairs.  
“Cats aren’t allowed here. You’re not my cat. I don’t know anything about cats.”  
He massaged the bridge of his nose and when the cat rubbed its furry and meowed again in that heart breaking wailing tone, he groaned.  
**“Will you just shut up for a minute and let me think?!”**

The tiny animal looked at him patiently while Max bit his lip, pondering on his options. He couldn’t take the cat inside, right? What if it had fleas? His eyes flickered to the dark grey clouds above his head that foreshadowed more rain to come during the night. He would let the cat out tomorrow before the race and that’s it, right?  
When the soaking little fur ball rubbed its wet head against his shin again, Max caved. 

He picked the cat up, hid it under his hoodie as thoroughly as possible and stormed inside the warm hotel lobby.

 

TBC


	7. Sleeping buddies  (Jev/André)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. "Please... stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeay, my first Jeandré, because... can two people be more gay than these two? Seriously... 
> 
> Setting is the Le Mans race 2019, so be prepared for tiredness, cuddles and fluff :D  
> Have fun, guys ;)

André literally falls out of the car at past four a.m. and he nods gratefully at the engineer who catches and steadies him before his knees hit the solid and nightly cold tarmac.  
He staggers into the garage on wobbly legs and tries to decide what to do first: look at the standings, take a shower, check his phone or simply fall into his sleeping bag in one of the back rooms. In his state of mind it’s an impossible decision to make. Yawning and without bothering to cover his mouth André can’t decipher anything on the bright flat screen TV with all the tiredness in the world blurring his vision, so he skips the standings and heads into the shower. 

The hot water that drums down on his back only a minute later helps to ease the stiffness in his shoulder blades and lower back. His muscles hum in satisfaction and decreasing tension that they kept up for the last four hours and the hot steam soothes his bruised and dry lungs that inhaled dry fumes for too long. The smell of sweat, petrol and rain gets rinsed away. André closes his eyes and leans his head against the comparatively cold white tiles and feels the giddy tension and laser pointer like concentration seep through his skin, washed off by the spray of hot water and disappear into the sewer at his numb feet.  
He cranes his neck into the water and flinches slightly at the pressure and temperature. For a couple of seconds he just breathes. Even, slow intakes of damp air. 

It’s been a solid race so far, he’s done okay himself, but Le Mans is always carnage made of colours, cars, categories, cameras. Hour after hour he circled the long-standing and prestigious track during the rainy afternoon and later a damp muggy evening and a crispy cold and foggy night.  
The thing with endurance (and the thing that has drawn André first and foremost into it years ago) is the constant necessity of highest focus and excellent knowledge of the circuit, the team, the strategy and unlimited trust in your team’s and teammate’s skills. You need all these traits in every motorsport, but in combination with three drivers in one car, the multitude of rivals on track and a _whole fucking day_ of driving is something else entirely.  
André lowers his head, lets hot water pelt against his neck and opens his eyes. Instead of parching tiredness his vision is blurred by hot humidity. He is tired as _hell_. It’s that state of tiredness when you already passed the over-excitement and adrenaline induced state of hyper-awareness. He still feels antsy, but it became borderline painful during the last hour and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The best thing for him to do is to keel over and hope his sleeping bag will catch him in a halfway comfortable woolly hug. It is the right thing for him to do, the most _appropriate_ , the most _intelligent_. Frankly, André has never considered himself intelligent. 

 

He exits the small bathroom area in sweatpants, a sweater and with still damp hair that sends tiny curls of condensation into the chill night air as he leaves the garages.  
There is only one place he wants to be in.  
He shuffles through the pit lane, deaf to the howling engines and screeching tyres of leaving or entering cars, blind to the headlights that sting his eyes as they dip in an annoyingly intermittent cacophony of brightness.  
André knows the way by heart, but it seems longer in the dark, appears to have grown out into the distance beyond the blinking light bulbs of the Ferris wheel. The huge construct illuminates the night and casts wide sprays of red and yellow light over the sleepy landscape and scattered white tent roofs. The small puddles from the rain during the late afternoon glimmer like liquid gold and fresh blood alternately to the changing lights. He fishes for his phone to at least take a nice photo of the paddock and the interesting play of light and intriguing contrasts. He forgot it in his room, of course.  
André clicks his tongue in annoyance and buries his clenched fists in his pockets. 

None of the French engineers in the G-Drive garage seem to take notice of the native German, as André slips into the partly lit interior and scurries past two engineers sleeping more or less on top of each other. Sprawled onto the huge air cushion in the form of a gigantic orange slice – Jev’s gigantic air cushion slash orange slice. 

He remembers the Frenchman’s happy blabbering about the bright coloured monstrosity during the driver’s parade yesterday (actually, it’s the day before yesterday, but who the fuck is able to stay on top of things in Le Mans?). They’ve had a lot of wine and champagne, but a few things are still present in André’s tired mind, ghosting through the fog of exhaustion and drowsiness.  
Jev’s wide smile, water-resistant, borderline patriotic, irredeemable and focused on everything and nothing at all – widening even more when it has been focused on André.  
Jev’s arm around his shoulder, more often slipping up to his neck or down to the small of his back during their ride together.  
Jev dismissing André’s concerns about him sticking around the wrong _team_ with nothing less than a nonchalantly wave of his hand.  
Jev’s lips tracing his cheek for one of their mandatorily sweet and ambiguous selfies.  
Jev’s cigarette he stole a couple of drags from behind a media tent, tasting sour champagne, nicotine and more.  
Giggles, touches, blown kisses. Just the usual, the works.

André walks past the quietly cuddling men, shaking his head internally. _That’s Le Mans, baby, that’s Le Mans._  
He nods at one of the mechanics on duty and gets an unmotivated greeting with a coffee mug in response.  
“Coffee, fuelling engineers, drivers and mechanics since 1923.” He mutters jokingly. This is the point of view no one really gets to see. The mind staggering effort, the crucial tiredness of a Saturday night at Le Mans and the toll it takes on everyone involved. Men and women falling asleep in uncomfortable camping chairs and drivers drowning themselves in any caffeine source they can find and that is still considered legal. André loves it, but it is so _bloody_ exhausting, as well. 

He makes it around the corner and opens a sliding door leading into a complete dark room. It has more resemblance with the compartment the witches in the fairy tales his mother read to him as a child would use as a storage room. But instead of stinky tinctures and poisonous herbs, the shelves are filled with helmets, plastic bottles, tubes and gloves lined up in neat piles. The shelves cover every wall from the floor to the ceiling and André sighs at the sight.  
In the middle of the organised chaos lies a heap of blankets and curled into it lies the sleeping form of Jean-Eric. André sighs at the sight again, but this time a smile ghosts over his lips.  
He steps inside and closes the door. He kneels down in the dark and feels his way over the blankets carefully for only small lines of light seek their way through the cracks of the door. It’s not nearly enough to enlighten the room properly.  
André can hear Jean-Eric breathing in the dark. His fingers brush over Jean-Eric’s side but the touch doesn’t startle the Frenchman until André reaches his side and tightens his grip a little.  
“Jev?”, he asks simultaneously. There is still no reaction from his Techeetah colleague and it makes André smirk. Jev calls a very special character trait his own. He can sleep everywhere. He can fall asleep in airplanes, in trains, simulators, in sailing boats, in André’s lap. And once asleep, Jean-Eric Vergne is very hard to wake up again, throws around French curses and death wishes. André has been the target of such a few time since he joined the team, but he knows that the smell of coffee, cheetah’s purring or his own soft smile would smooth the Parisian’s fury enough to at least deflect imminent death.  
Secretly, André really admires this ability, having learned to keep his own demons and doubts at bay with Yoga, but Jev has been through entirely different depths of hell.  
André shakes of the images of an undernourished Jev in dark blue and tries to wake him up again. Another failed attempt later, André lays down beside him, gently leant against Jev’s back, one hand still idly stroking his upper arm. Once his head hits one of the sot pillow a deep lungful of air leaves the German and his eyes flutter shut after he’s curled himself into Jev’s warmth.  
He _knows_ , he shouldn’t. He _knows_ , he should go back to his own garage, to his own team. He _knows_ , he’s indulging himself into something that is bigger than himself and bigger a mess he’s ever been trapped in. It scares him beyond imagination. He breathes in Jev’s scent, his shampoo, fuel, cigarette smoke, a faint taste of savoury sweat. He has never considered himself intelligent.  
It’s the tiredness, really, that makes André lean in and place the gentle ghost of a kiss to Jean-Eric’s shoulder blades through his shirt.  
Jev’s breathing hitches and he lifts his head.  
“André?” The soft and sleepy French accent is heavier than usual.  
“Yes, it`s me. Go back to sleep, Jev.”  
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Rebellion?” He struggles with the blankets for a moment, cursing under his breath. “Let me turn, André.”  
André reluctantly loosens his grip around Jev and a second later Jev faces him. His hair is a mess and dark shadows lay like imprinted into to the skin underneath his brown eyes. The smile he grants André is tired and emphasises his laughing lines. The small trails of light from the door cast a pale pattern on his face and reveal a thoroughly irritated yet amused Frenchman.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I just wanted to check on you and make sure you get enough sleep in between your stints.”  
“By waking me up?”  
Now it is more humour than irritation and André laughs a little hoarsely at the well hidden accusation.  
“I can’t sleep without my nap buddy.”  
Jev snorts and yawns. There is a little pause, a minute shift in the air and André’s breathing hitches. He feels his eyes watering from staring into the darkness for too long and colourful patterns ghost in front of his eyes in the pitch blackness behind Jev. He swallows drily.  
“I can go, if you want me to?”  
He says it, because it’s the right thing to say, a way out, a simple decision for Jean-Eric, who had to make far too many far too difficult decisions in the past. André breaks this silence with a slow sigh and turns on his back.  
“You need your rest, I understand that.”  
Jev scoops a little closer and puts an arm around André’s midst, before the German can haul himself to his exhausted feet.  
“No, no. I was joking. It’s great you’re here.” He stifles a yawn that makes his jaw crack. “How’s it going so far for you?”  
“It’s alright so far, fixed the front and refuelling so far goes as planned. And you guys?”  
Jev is silent for a moment and André believes he’s fallen asleep again, when the Parisian sniffles and the blankets rustle.  
“A little too rainy for my taste, but Job is fantastic, he’s a brilliant addition to the team. Now I’m just tired. So tired…”  
A soft characteristic chuckle escapes André’s lips, when Jev buries his face into his side and an uncoordinated hand lands in his still a little damp hair. His chest vibrates with a low hum. André’s hand draws small circles over Jev’s back absentmindedly. It’s just one of those little gestures that became a habit he grew secretly fond of to an amount he doesn’t want to think about. He knows, he shouldn’t be here, not in this state of mind, tired and beside himself, but feeling his teammate so close and warm is too great a temptation.  
“When do you have to get up again?” It’s just a check-up, monitoring each other’s schedule which they arranged purposely to have some off-time together.  
“Around five-thirty, I guess. I have to be in the car at six.”  
“That’s less than an hour, mate. You really need to get some sleep.”  
André tries to disentangle himself from Jev just to realise that the Frenchman’s grip around his chest tightens with every passing second.  
“I thought about you.” It startles André and he slips back into the warm cushions. “I thought about you while driving Le fucking Mans and…” Jev’s voice trails off into the darkness and something in it tells André that he has no intentions to finish that sentence. He bites his lip and tries to sort out his drowsy brain, synapses hesitant to fire. Words tumble out of his mouth before he can properly pick them from his mediocre English vocabulary.  
“I thought about you, too. Not just in the car. But there as well…” Other thoughts climb their way up his windpipe, but he swallows them down under great effort. “I just needed to check on you before I could go to sleep myself.” 

“Stop talking about leaving already.” Jev snaps and it makes André giggle partly nervously, partly elated. A tired Jean-Eric is a Jean-Eric with zero fucks to give. He should have known. He presses his palm to Jev’s shoulder reassuringly, but he isn’t done making his point valid.  
“André, could you... **Please… stay**. Just stay here for another hour. I sleep better with you around.” Jev’s hand lays sprawled out on top of his chest, heavy like a weight and warm from sleep. “I want you to stay with me.” André smiles at that, tightening the blanket around Jev’s slim shoulders.  
André loses the shamefully half-hearted fight against his nagging longing and stays where he is.  
When the Frenchman adds a silently mumbled “Always.”, André blames it on the sleepiness, their companionship running deep into Jean-Eric’s subconscious and their demanding and exhausting surroundings. At the same time he meditates silently until his heartbeat stops roaring through his chest and his fingers stop trembling from the sheer rush of emotions this single word elicits in the depths of his stomach. _Damn Le Mans_ , he thinks. _And damn me for always wanting what I can’t have._

Still, he pulls Jev even closer and places a small peck to the top of his head, simply because he’s too fucking tired to withstand the need to touch any longer. And because he can, in the dark and alone with his exhaustion beyond imagination. He _feels_ Jean-Eric sliding off into sleep this time, his breathing evening out and limbs growing heavier. 

“Always.” He mutters under his breath before closing his eyes and dosing off himself - while holding the love of his life in his arms and dreaming of the day he might tell Jev how much more than a nap buddy he really is to him. _Everything. Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, does this one deserve a sequel? :D
> 
> Please don't hesitate to ask for prompts, folks!


	8. playing cupid (Hülkenberg/Magnussen, Max/Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31\. "I'm not gonna keep having this conversation!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is for **londonbird** (I know, I promised you another drabble and you will get that, my dear, just a few more days and creativity potion^^) for SO many reasons, but most of all for her shared love for un-pairable pairings like Nico and Kevin…  
> This is pure banter and silliness and will receive a sequel, as soon as possible!

„I may have a huge problem.” Nico says instead of a greeting and pushes past Daniel, who stops still in the doorframe for a second and stares into the hallway, blinking confused, before he follows Nico into his own apartment.  
“O-kay. What did you do wrong this time?”  
Nico flings himself onto Daniel’s lavish and comfortable grey couch and spreads his long limbs.  
His loud sigh is dramatic, borderline theatrical. Daniel just watches from the living room door with a sheepish expression on his face.  
“Why would you think, I did something wrong?”  
Instead of answering Daniel points at him, his living room and includes the whole situation with one large wave of his arm. Everything about this situation is off. From Nico’s irritated and irritating text from half an hour ago, whether Daniel was home and could make time for him, over his sudden appearance, to the way he groans into the sofa cushion. That _something_ has happened is quite obvious, the question is _what_ rather than _if_.  
Nico answers his unasked question with a loud huff and a click of his tongue. When he looks up, he meets Daniel’s patient, but almost anxious brown eyes and swallows. 

“I may have punched Kevin Magnussen.”, he mumbles into the cushion and covers his head with both hands, when Daniel’s eruptive and incredulous laughter reverberates from the plain living room walls. He tries to cover it up with a cough and fails terribly.  
“You did what?” The Aussie bites back another fit of giggles, but Nico _swears_ , his cheeks will tear at any second from that deliriously broad grin.  
“I may have broken his nose.” His muffled voice is almost inaudible now through the fluffy cushion. It’s a reluctant confession of his snapped patience and over-spilled fury towards his natural archenemy.  
“You did _what _?! Why would you do that?”__  
“Have you met the guy?” Nico retorts blatantly. Daniel still looks absolutely run over and perversely amused at the same time. He slumps down next to Nico’s feet and ruffles his fuzzy curls, before staring at the blonde again.  
“You can’t just run around punching people!”  
“But he can drive around crashing into people?!”  
“You’re comparing apples and oranges!” 

They look at each other for a couple of seconds. Nico fuming and infuriated. Daniel with a deadpan mask covering his emotions.  
Nico shuts his mouth, when he can’t come up with a suitable answer and sticks to his pouting instead.  
“Hey.” Daniel relents and tries to tame the humour lingering in his voice. “I’m the dead last person to judge anyone who loses his temper because of a team mate. I drove against Verstappen and that name is an epitome for trouble, but…”  
Daniel nudges Nico’s shin out his way in order to find a more comfortable sitting position.  
“What happened, anyway? What would make you break your honey’s nose?”  
A disgusted sound detangles itself from the German’s throat and he literally spits out his next words.  
“He’s an asshole, that’s what he is. Stupid and reckless and idiotic.”  
“Stupid and idiotic are the same thing.” Daniel states with a raised eyebrow and Nico flexes the throbbing muscles in his already swollen right hand.  
Daniel sees it and shuts his mouth. 

They sit in silence for a minute and when Nico hisses in pain, Daniel’s sympathy overpowers his amusement and he struts towards his kitchen.  
When he returns, Nico lays on his back, an arm covering his face and a hand nervously fidgeting with the hem of his white shirt. His whole appearance screams uneasiness and shame. 

“Here, that should help with the swelling.” Daniel mutters and hands him a pack of frozen peas.  
Nico grunts thankfully and presses the improvised ice pack against his bruised knuckles.  
Daniel plays with his phone absentmindedly and gives Nico time to sort out his thoughts.  
When he speaks, his voice his still heated, but true irritation mingles with the anger now. 

“He kissed me.”  
Daniel’s phone clatters to the floor.  
“He didn’t!” he huffs completely taken aback and it is drowned out by Nico’s groan of utter overextension and tenseness.  
“God, I wish. But he did and I totally snapped.”  
“Jeepers.” Daniel mutters before grinning wolfishly. “Did you like it?”  
Nico downright _winces_ , which is neither an answer nor a real reaction in any way (and certainly nothing Daniel can make use of at the moment). 

Nico gives in to the itch that inhabits his body since that godawful night the day before yesterday. He can’t lay still any longer. He staggers to his feet and starts pacing up and down in front of the couch, carefully stepping over Daniel’s outstretched legs. Daniel watches him and squints his eyes. Thoughts rush into and out of his head and he finally clicks his tongue.  
“Okay, that changes a lot. That changes the whole freaking game.”  
Nico stops and throws his hands in the air in an enraged movement.  
“Daniel, there is no game left, he flipped the whole damn board. I barely even talked to him before that. Once a year someone would bring up that stupid video from Hungary and that’s it. And suddenly he wants to talk to me and I thought, maybe he was drunk, and apparently he was, because his goddamn girlfriend was there at the bar. And we went outside and he blabbered some nonsense and suddenly he kissed me and…”  
It gets obvious that Nico isn’t going to finish that sentence, so Daniel helps him along.  
“You snapped.”  
Nico’s shoulders drop.  
“Yeah, I snapped. And then I left, of course.”  
“Naturally.” 

There is a small pause and then Daniel sighs deeply and pouts.  
“I can’t believe, Max actually won.”  
Nico stops in his pacing and stares at his teammate questioningly.  
“Max won what?”  
“We made a bet on what would happen first between you and Kevin. A kiss or a punch.” He says and clicks his tongue while Nico is just so able to breathe and blink. “I thought you were more romantic. Obviously, Max had a hunch.”  
He nonchalantly picks up his phone and inspects the dusty screen for any scratches. Nico’s brain fathoms the meaning of his words and goes blank.  
“You did… What?! Y-you bet on my sex life?!”  
“I never said anything about sex, but thank you very much for granting me that information so deliberately.”  
“Jesus Christ, Daniel, that’s just _wrong_!”  
“Says the guy, who literally punched a colleague in the face.”  
“He had it coming.”  
Daniel scoffs and Nico continues in infuriated pacing, before he stops again and looks at his teammate with squinted eyes.  
“What did you bet anyways?”  
“You don’ want to know, believe me.”  
The grin on Daniel’s face grows even wider and dirtier and Nico growls. He wipes his face and wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.  
“God damn it.” he murmurs and returns to his corner of the couch.  
Daniel stares at him and sympathy appears on his features again, when he hands Nico one of the cushions so the blonde can bury his face in the fabric again.  
“You know, you could try to talk to him. Maybe there is a logical explanation for the kiss. Maybe it’s National Kiss Day in Denmark or something.”  
Nico lifts his head and sighs.  
“You don’t honestly think that, do you?”  
Daniel doesn’t, no, but there has to be done _something_ in order to fix this. _And to safe my poor sofa cushions_ , he adds worriedly. He buries his naked toes into the soft grey carpet and clicks his tongue, before facing Nico again.  
“Maybe you could start with apologizing? You know, for punching him and possibly breaking his nose?”  
It’s more a question than a statement, really, but Nico laughs sarcastically anyway and rolls his eyes.  
“No way. And **I’m not gonna keep having this conversation**. Leave me alone.” he downright _growls_ and Daniel stretches his arms out in an irritated gesture.  
“We’re in _my_ living room, mate. You can’t kick me out.”  
Nico stays silent. Muscles work in his jaw relentlessly and darkness settles his in pale blue eyes.  
Daniel sighs and lets him be. 

Daniel plays with his phone again and minutes pass without a single word being spoken.  
Daniel types like a maniac, seeking help from his collocutor and sending data, assumptions and interpretations through invisible bits and bytes across the orbit – or simply two stories up the very same apartment building to the only person in the world Daniel would ever trust with this matter. 

Then, when everything is settled and arranged, the Aussie sighs and discards his phone for a moment, before turning to the German picture of misery obviously busy suffocating himself with a cushion. 

“Alright, mate, one simple question.” He licks his lips, knows the risk he’s ready to take here and schools his features into an open and calm expression. “Do you trust me?” 

There is a long pause and Nico stares at him like a wild animal, wary, cautious.  
Then he drops his forehead to his hands again and ruffles his already completely dishevelled hair.  
“I’m so going to regret this…” he mutters into his non-existent beard and clears his throat, before raising his voice. “Aside from the fact that this stupid bet of yours is a huge betrayal of trust and I’m going to hate you forever for that, I still consider us friends and… Yes. Yes, I trust you.”  
Daniel’s smile is perversely wide and oddly cocksure.  
“Gangster!” he cheers. 

And Nico knows in that very second, he is _so_ going to regret this! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys had fun, let me know, what you think! 
> 
> Read you soon,  
> Charona


	9. Playing Cupid II (Nico/Kevin, Daniel/Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17\. "I can't do this without you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Here I am with another drabble of what turned out to be a three-shot of pining, planning and plotting to get two predestined enemies to get their shit together.  
> This one is just Maxiel cuteness, please enjoy!

Max welcomes him with a tight hug, Daniel immediately dives into. They stand in the hallway of Max’s hotel room for a moment and simply _exist_ in each other’s arms for the first time in days of being apart.  
Max draws firm circles over his back and Daniel buries his nose in the crook of his neck, tightening his already vice-like embrace for another second. It’s been hours since they last saw each other in the pit lane, days since they’ve talked to each other and almost a week since their last time alone. Their jobs, their lives got in between too often and it hits them now more than ever that Daniel’s decision to change teams, their decision, has it’s downsides alongside the new freedom, the calmness, the closeness.  
Max cradles Daniel’s back and cups the back of his neck in a delicate touch.  
“I’ve missed you.”  
“I’ve missed you, too.”  
Daniel savours the familiar and rich scent of Max’s aftershave for another moment and finally lets go of his shoulders, just to cup his cheeks.  
“So goddamn much.” He says before leaning in for a deep and longing kiss. Max’s soft exhale tickles his eyelashes and Daniel nips at his lower lip playfully, before finally pulling away.  
Max smiles at him, daringly and tired at the same time and it’s a downright beautiful sight to Daniel, who returns the smile immediately. 

“So?” Max asks on his way to the living room, visibly exhausted but with the aura of contentment wavering around him. “How’s it going? What’s the status of our Hulknussen hook-up plan? Your text sounded urgent.”  
“It is, but… _Hulknussen_ , really?”  
“They both are absolute dumb nuts with anger management problems, so…”  
Daniel just chuckles at the German-English wordplay and leaves the statement about recklessness, coming from Max Verstappen of all people, uncommented. He just snorts and flops down on the white sofa. They’ve both had long days, but the energetic buzz in Max’s voice infects Daniel’s mood in an instant.  
"Yeah, I do have a plan actually. But **I can’t do this without you**.”  
Max laughs, rummages through the fridge and hands Daniel a cold water bottle before laying down on his back next to him, his head resting on the Aussie’s thigh.  
“Fire away then.”  
Daniel starts talking and although Max keeps himself from interrupting him in every third sentence, he can’t stop himself from shaking his head and laughing ironically. It just fuels Daniel’s enthusiasm and he sets forth his plan by talking with his whole body, eyes glistening with mischief and humour, hands flying through the air. 

Max still shakes his head incredulously after Daniel has finished explaining his master plan and by now the Aussie looks seriously hurt and annoyed.  
“Okay, just so I get this straight.” Max says and his cheeks hurt from grinning so much. ”You want to lure them into the hotel with the terrible reason of watching a tennis match. You hate tennis and everyone knows that. And when they both are here you want to lock them into a lift. The same lift.”  
“Yes, Germany was a great inspiration. We’ll do it after the race, when they are too tired to put up a fight. You’ll text Kevin and I’ll make sure Nico is here.”  
Max’s frown deepens and he licks his lips.  
“Apart from the fact I don’t even have his number and on top of that being an incredibly stupid plan in general, you want me to bribe the manager of the hotel to shut down the electricity for the lift.”  
“I heard, you’ve got a connection to him.”  
“I went on one – _one_ \- and quite disappointing date with his _daughter_ , when I was sixteen, Daniel! That’s barely a _connection_!”  
Daniel furrows his brows and thinks about that for a second, before grinning widely.  
“We could as well set a fire somewhere. Maybe in one of the lounges upstairs. It should put the lift out of order.”  
Max huffs and shakes his head.  
“No, Daniel, we’re definitely not going to burn down this hotel.”  
“Do you have a better idea?”  
Max bites his lip. Actually, the plan isn’t _that_ bad considering all the shenanigans they pulled off in the Red Bull garage during the last three years and they still can come up with a better alibi until Sunday. 

He lifts his arms in a surrendering gesture, catches Daniel’s hand mid-air before the Aussie can start blabbering again and plants it in his own hair instead. He closes his eyes and wiggles around until he finds a more comfortable position to lay down.  
“I’m going to talk to the manager.” He gives in and makes a big show of his dramatic sigh. “But we split the costs and Nico mustn’t ever know it was me.” Sharp blue meets warm brown, when Max opens his eyes and stares at Daniel intently. “I’m serious, Daniel, that guy scares me.”  
“Max, you’re not afraid of anyone or anything. But, yeah, sure. He just knows about our bet, but who doesn’t, really? He’s so ignorant when it comes to Kevin, that he doesn’t even realise how many bets there are about him and Kev making out or getting into a proper fist fight.”  
Max chuckles softly and closes his eyes again, leans into the touch, when Daniel starts to move his hand.  
“Yes, but to be honest, you and I were the same. It’s always the same, I guess. For everyone. You’re completely blind until you finally see.”  
He pauses still for a moment and when he opens his eyes and meets Daniel’s they are soft and deep and filled with affection.  
“I’m doing this, because I love you, you know that, right?”  
Daniel wants to answer, but Max’s eyes flutter shut again and he yawns like a new born puppy.  
“And now stop talking, please. I had a long day with Marko and you may be one of Cupid’s gophers, but I’m definitely not.”

Daniel smiles broadly and lets his hand run through Max’s hair. It’s still damp from the shower and runs like water through his fingertips. He shakes his head and lets his knuckles graze over Max’s jawline, before grapping the TV remote and switching on the huge flat screen to fill the room with some mindless chatter. 

“I appreciate it. And I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will their plan work? ;)


	10. sparks (Pierre/Charles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29\. “Because I love you, God damn it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This project still exists, who would have thought? (Truth be told, me not^^) 
> 
> So _this one_ is ancient xD I’m so sorry, it took me an eternity to come up with something about these two. I never started something as many times as this and I still doubt parts of it, but this has to come to an end now! :D Anyway, thanks, Brazil, for happening and finally offering me some background to this.
> 
> Thanks to **thegreatgasly** for setting me such a difficult task, I hope, you enjoy it, dear, thank you so much for everything! <3 
> 
> Here is something bittersweet with Pierre and Charles.

It was funny, really, how long they’ve known each other. Almost ten years of their lives they’ve race against each other, in all different kinds of categories and formulas, until they couldn’t reach any higher, until they’ve entered the top league. Racing amongst the best of the best, fighting for victories, titles, glory. 

But they weren’t really, were they? Charles, maybe, with an extraordinary start of the season, poles, podiums, while Pierre lagged behind, picking up the scraps and got fucking _lapped_ by Max on Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve. 

Pierre tried. He gave it everything and worked his ass off, met with every engineer from every department, but the fuse just wouldn’t spark and he slowly but steadily lost his hope.  
Seeing Max on the top step in Austria, drenched in champagne, celebrated by the team, the media, the world, was a low point for Pierre.  
Germany should have been it. Germany should have been his turning point with new supplements in the car, new settings and new strategy.  
It wasn’t. So he got demoted. Understandable from the team’s point of view and still so immensely painful for Pierre. 

Being back at Toro Rosso was good, though. He felt like he could breathe again and nothing really changed, except Charles maybe. 

He knew, the Monegasque had a difficult season, too, just… differently. The battle with Max, the press, the trouble with Sebastian.  
They were there for each other as best as they could with their sorts of trouble being of so different natures. 

 

What had been a close friendship and heartbeats unexplainably stuttering in the close proximity of the other, came crumbling down around them once Brazil happened. 

Brazil for Pierre was an inexplicable high, endorphins made him dizzy, joy made him cry before he even crossed the line. Elation, pride, happiness, you name it. It rushed through him like a wild fire and saw him jumping at his team and losing his voice for the next couple of days from screaming so much.  
Brazil for Charles was a rollercoaster ending in a crash and a distinct low point. 

Pierre caught up to him afterwards, already showered to not rub it into Charles’ face too much, and realising it was the right decision once he was at the door to his motorhome, sneaking through the slightly ajar door, before he was a witness to Charles’ outburst.  
His first victim was the Ferrari-red cushion on the sofa, hitting the opposite wall with a dull thud, noise too quiet and damage too little; so the time tables were next, neatly organised piles of paper scrunched up or gliding to the floor, but it was still not enough.  
So it was the small music boxes next, sharp plastic bursting against the wall and tiny motherboards and colourful cables scattered in the midst of black shards.  
That was when the spell finally broke, when Charles turned around and saw Pierre standing by the door.  
Pierre could tell, how furious he was, saw it in the darkened eyes and hardened features and didn’t know how to approach him. 

“Are you here to receive your congratulations?”  
The tone made Pierre flinch – angry, sarcastic and everything Charles normally wasn’t.  
“No, I just wanted-“  
“Wanted what, mh?! Watch me tearing everything apart, I worked for so hard all my life?”  
“What? No, I-“  
“Enjoying yourself?!”  
“Okay, stop it!”

Charles stood in the self-induced chaos and actually did, hands spread out, ironic huff stuck in his throat.  
“Do you really think, I would enjoy seeing you hurt?! After everything you’ve been t-“  
“Don’t you dare make up excuses for my own fucking mistakes!”  
Two things saw Pierre shutting his mouth instantly: The fact, Charles saw the mistake leading to the crash with himself for some reason whereas Pierre would have said it was a solid 50/50 and bad luck the tyres both burst at the slight contact. And how forcefully he quashed the simple truth that his past experiences and traumas had had a bigger influence on the way he dealt with setbacks than he himself realised at times.  
Now he interpreted in wrong, though, seeing Pierre’s muteness as a confession and not an affirmation.  
“Just piss off.”  
Pierre blinked and shook his head.  
“No. I’m not leaving you like that. Go on, smash the room, if you feel like it, it’s okay. It really is, but I’m not going anywhere until you’re better.”  
“Wow, grand gestures, that’s what I need, right now.”  
“I’m trying to help you, you idiot!”  
He saw the question rising from the fog of his wrath, the question of a reason.  
_Why…_

“Why would you?!”  
And it drove him over the edge, the ignorance getting to him in a way he didn’t think was possible, making him clench his fists and grind his teeth, before he snapped and scoffed, words leaving his mouth unhindered.  
**“Because I love you, God damn it!”**  
Pierre shut his eyes and wiped his face, hell-bent to shut out Charles’ reaction to that involuntary confession.  
What he didn’t expect was the soft exhale and even softer words.  
“You… are you for real?”  
Pierre understood he’s offered a way out, stuff the truth back down into his heart and deny everything, but he didn’t. Maybe it was still the high of becoming second he was secretly floating on, maybe the look in Charles eyes once he’d found the guts to open his own ones and meet his friend’s gaze.  
He took a deep breath and nodded.  
“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you any sooner.”

Charles didn’t know what to say to that, but the anger slowly drained from his body, seeping back into the part of his mind labelled “work” and to be dealt with later.  
Pierre kept staring at him like a deer in the headlights.  
“Maybe it’s best if I leave you to it, then…”  
He’d already turned back towards the door, when Charles took a step in his direction, shaking his head.  
“No, please don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t really know, what to say.” _Or to do._  
That was met by a soft chuckle, reduced to a shaky exhale once Charles stepped into his personal space.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Then there are soft lips grazing his own and Pierre’s eyes flutter shut.  
It was more than he had ever imagined, putting even the euphoria of the podium to shame effortlessly.  
He felt frozen to place until Charles’ smile seeped from his lips straight to his own and infected him, breath hitching automatically.  
The next kiss got placed to his temple, skin tickling and he finally snaked an arm around Charles’ slim waist, pulling him in and closer, closer still.  
Pierre still didn’t dare to open his eyes, as if it might break the spell and make Charles disappear like a genie in a bottle, but then there were warm fingertips cupping his cheek and his eyes flutter open –just to meet the most incredible pair of green-brown eyes.  
He swallowed drily and clung to him even more. He was aware that they had to talk about this, properly, once they’d both calmed down and were at home, but now Pierre just held onto Charles’ back and skimmed through the emotions on his face.  
A small smile tucked at his lips and Pierre caught it with his own, his words a barely audible whisper.

“Apology accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still taking prompts for this one. So if you're feeling up to it, hit me :D


End file.
